


rule of three

by figure8



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Eventual Happy Ending, Families of Choice, Love Triangles, M/M, Post-War, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24079264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: Taeyong takes a job he knows he shouldn't. It all goes downhill, from there.--Or: Lee Taeyong is the greatest thief in the galaxy, Doyoung is his conscience, and Jaehyun is his right hand.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Lee Taeyong, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong, Undisclosed Relationship(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	rule of three

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings: implied PTSD, mentions of war crimes, offscreen prostitution/human trafficking, major character injury, blood and violence, injury recovery, minor character death.
> 
> Undisclosed relationships include the endgame pairing that “resolves” the love triangle. I think this story is better enjoyed not knowing this in advance, but if you want to know exactly what you’re getting into, you can [click here](https://ao3userfigure8.carrd.co/#rot).

_Prologue_

In the end, it all boiled down to Taeyong’s infuriating self-sacrificing tendencies. Doyoung had always known, deep inside, that they were heading down this road. It had been a matter of delaying it, not avoiding it. _One more day,_ every morning looking at himself in the mirror. _Please give me one more day—_ rinse and repeat.

There would be time, later, to reassign blame mathematically. _Logically,_ there were many reasons the job had gone so catastrophically wrong. Luck was a fickle mistress, but she was also the captain in this business. One had to trust her: flip the coin, accept the payoff. There weren’t always people to point fingers at; sometimes failure was simply organic, tragic specifically because it was unavoidable. Sometimes you did everything right and still got fucked at the end of the tunnel. In any other set of circumstances Doyoung would have recognized that.

“I’m going to kill you,” he hissed instead through gritted teeth, the palms of his hands slippery with blood. 

On the floor, Taeyong flashed him a pained grin. His elvish face was rapidly draining of color. God, there was _so much blood._

“You took an oath,” Taeyong said weakly. “Do no harm, and all that.” 

Doyoung would have glared at him if he had the time. But he did not have the time, because Taeyong was dying. 

“Doc,” Yuta called, taut. “We’re gonna have company soon.” 

“I can’t move him,” Doyoung shook his head. He was calculating outcomes in his mind, little colored lines all leading to scenarios he did not want to consider. “How long can you give me?”

 _Click._ He didn’t need to look up to know Yuta was reloading his gun. Another _click._

“Just— stop the bleeding,” Yuta sighed. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Taeyong,” Doyoung said. They were alone now. Doyoung was a good shot, but not kneeling in a foreign corridor with his best friend in his arms and his back turned to the exit. If the guards got past Yuta, then saving Taeyong’s life wouldn’t matter, because both he and Doyoung would be dead anyway. 

“You only call me Taeyong when you’re mad,” Taeyong wheezed softly. Doyoung hated that sound. It told him Taeyong’s lungs might as well have been a sieve.

“Taeyong,” he repeated, voice breaking on the _yong,_ “I don’t know what to do.” 

He didn’t have his equipment. He didn’t have _time._ All he had was two useless hands, and red was flowing through his fingers; Taeyong’s life dripping river-like as he tried to catch it, gather it, keep it inside— safe. 

“Doctor Kim,” Taeyong smiled, and he raised his arm to touch Doyoung’s face, smearing blood on Doyoung’s chin. It was sticky and awful and tender. Doyoung wanted to close his eyes. Doyoung wanted to never stop looking at Taeyong. “Never thought I—” 

He was coughing again, wet and horrible. 

“Never thought I’d see you admit—”

“Shut up,” Doyoung said, too devastated to inject any bite into it. Behind, away but not away _enough_ he could hear gunfire, and yelling. _We’re going to die here,_ he thought with terrifying clarity. Even during the war, there had never been a thought like this, because there had never been a moment calm enough to actually formulate it. Fear back then had been animal and fast, too unstable for words. Fear now felt closer to mourning. 

The door screamed stridently as it got blown out of its hinges, and the lights overhead flickered in sympathy, like ten monstrous eyes blinking. In the smoke and the debris, Doyoung spared a prayer for Yuta.

“Doyoung,” Taeyong said, and this time he sounded small and hurt. 

Doyoung curled over his body, covering as much as he could with his own. “I’m so angry at you,” he whispered, and hoped Taeyong could hear the _I love you_ between the lines. 


End file.
